From A to Z Across Space and Time
by MustBeDreaming13
Summary: So, you've been across space and time with them, but have you ever been through the alphabet with them? A letter can define who we are much more thank you think. Short one-shots of these lovely characters using letters of the alphabet. Some chapters sad, angsty, and sometimes even happy. I just do whatever suits me.
1. Apples

**So, it's been awhile since I've had any writing inspiration. To be honest, it's still kind of not there. But I promised myself I would ease myself back into writing. So, here it is. One-shots of the lovely pairing that is Eleven/Amy. I hope you enjoy it! R&R? Disclaimer: I do not own Doctor Who. If I did, Amy Pond would have had a better Series 6 than she did and my OTP would be canon. **

She tastes like apples.

But you hate apples, _apples are rubbish, _you swear it, but it's hard to focus when her mouth is moving in perfect sync with yours.

And instead of picturing bruised apples, rotten to the core, like you usually do _(because that's how you usually feel_) you imagine them differently.

You can see a healthy apple, shining brightly. Polished by youth and innocence, but most of all by sweet experience.

Not like the horrors you have witnessed, no; perhaps this apple was once bruised, knocked off the apple cart, as some might say.

Tossed around by rough hands, many missing the catch, ultimately landing the forgotten treat in the dirt.

It takes years for this apple to regain any faith because it had been left under the tree, waiting, for years.

But, years later, it is picked up, a sleeve slowly but surely wiping the dust away. Soon, happiness is etched on the face of the apple, carving that magnificent, bewildering smile onto its edges.

And she carves a smile onto your own face as you reflect on how much she and certain apples are alike. And somehow you can't even imagine ever not liking apples in the first place. Because even though you have a damaged apple (_cold, withering, rotten to the very core_), hers is not that much different. Granted, hers is much superior to yours considering your background. But you both have experienced pain and judgment and utter loneliness. A loneliness complete with a wide gaping pit of darkness.

And you stare at her in awe through the kiss and soon enough she realizes, gazing up at you with those wide eyes, a pool of hazel. She pokes you in the stomach for staring at her in such a moment, but you can't help yourself. You're used to setting your eyes upon various beauties, but never before had you beheld one such as this. Never one quite like her.

And it is then you conclude not all apples knocked off their cart are rotten ones.


	2. Blue

**Hello, new chapter! Yah yah! This one is in Amy's POV. :) R&R?**

The color blue was different for you than it was for most people. Ordinary people, anyway. To you, blue didn't mean the wisps of blue so carefully painted to the world's skin. Nor did it mean vast waves splashing from the ocean's body, the dark hue kissing the shore ever so slightly.

To you, it meant a change from your mundane life back in that town you don't even refer to as home any longer. It meant breathing air from a place you never even knew existed, and stars tickling your toes, and him glancing at you from across the console. Or the lingering looks in those rare yet quiet moments of your travels when you would unwind. You would be buried in the nose of a book in the library, lost in your daydream, when you would catch his eyes studying you. His face being only a blur behind the leaf of the page. Written words blocking out the critical aspects of his face: the nose, the mouth, even the chin (blimey, _that chin_.) But never the eyes. Just a look, always _**that **__look. _

It wasn't what you expected. But nothing he ever did was what you expected, was it? You learned that lesson five minutes after a magic blue box fell from the sky and into your life so many years ago. For some reason, you thought it would be some sort of longing perhaps. You can admit that you're a bit conceited, but come on; it was bound to happen sometime with those luring golden locks of yours. But that isn't what you saw at all.

If you could take what you saw in those eyes and paint the walls in the room with them, it would be blue. And you know that sounds cliché because his time machine is blue, right? And you know it so well. You've memorized that shade of blue since you were a child. The reason you say this, though, is because the look in his eyes is exactly what you beheld when you stared back at your face in the mirror. It wasn't even in your lowest moments when you caught your eyes holding such sadness. Sometimes you would catch this look in the reflection of the console while he was down below, making repairs of some sort. Sometimes he would ask you what's wrong in the middle of one of his notorious rants. He would catch you before you did and you would have to ask yourself, _**what is wrong?**_

You are magnificent, mad, impossible Amy Pond. Nothing could be wrong, could it? And if something is wrong with you then something is very wrong with him.

Your blue hero in your blue castle.

You wonder why your castle is so blue. You used to think it was because of him, and indeed, that was usually the case.

But sometimes you would pick up the paintbrush and add a stroke of blue of your own. Silently, guarded, always behind closed doors would an artist do her work.

But one time, just once, he discovered you in the act. Dribbles of paint pouring from your wrists as you smeared it against your bed sheets and night gown. He rushed over, embracing you, his anxious lips meeting your forehead repeatedly. And you cringed as you saw the same blue in his eyes, just like your eyes, your wrists, pouring out the same hue. You detested it, you detested _him_ (_but most of all you detested yourself for him seeing you like this._) Because the truth was you couldn't bear losing him again. And so you allowed him to cradle you as you let choked sobs escape your lips. For once, you were defeated. For once, you couldn't give him the happiness he so desperately needed.

So you let three bleeding hearts beat out of rhythm, out of time, because nothing related to you two was ever close to perfect.

Ordinary people would never understand what blue really means.

And even your jovial hero would never fully grasp why his precious time machine was always the same shade.

Because even sometimes _**you**_ made the TARDIS blue.


End file.
